The Circle Closes: Apprentice III
by TobyWong
Summary: Sequel to Webs of Vengeance. Darla Hails and her mentor meet again to face the New Horsemen of Apocalypse
1. Chapter 1

**I - Sacrifice**

The Swiss Alps. A monastery.

In the bed, Darla Hails moaned. The man behind her pressed hardly. She moaned again, this time louder as she leant all her weight on her hands and knees. Her face touched the stone wall as he pushed harder inside her. Another push, another moan. A situation that continued for some more minutes, until he let her go. She loosened her legs and stretched in the bed. She felt his hands over her naked body, caressing her. He blew over the layer of sweat that covered her back and she giggled girlishly.

"Jin, that was... good!"

The man lay beside her. She gazed at him. He was shorthaired, and much wisdom was behind his Oriental eyes. She jerked her head closer and kissed him. He grinned.

"I fear it's time you left." He said gently. He was quite the gentleman, but a wild beast when it came to sex. She nodded. Her departure had a reason. The monks would be rather disturbed if they learned that there was fornication going on inside their holy place. Though they must be deaf, she thought.

She got up and put on her underwear. A brown robe followed. She slowly opened the door and checked out. It was clear. She waved at her lover, hurried out and tiptoed until she got inside her room.

She moved past the bed towards what the bathroom was: a seat with a hole that was placed over a latrine, and a tube surging out of the wall with a chain beside it. She pulled the chain and a gush of warm water erupted out of the tube. Darla stripped and placed herself under the water. Sweat slowly began to be shaken off. With it, Jin's scent as well.

She sensed what most immortals called _feeling the quickening of another immortal_: that tingle in the head announcing that there was one of her kind nearby. She did not like the quickening expression. For her, feeling a quickening was feeling the power of an immortal unleashed upon his or her beheading. Giving things more than a meaning made things more complex, and in a life or death Game like theirs, immortals should try to keep things as simpler as possible.

She got off the water and put on her robe. She strode to the bed, knelt to take out a briefcase and sighed before opening it. She assembled the three pieces of metal contained therein and a broadsword she held in her hands. She left the room and paced towards the main door.

Darla had spent better than two years inside the monastery, needing time to think. Her mentor, Victor Kruger, The Kurgan, was alive. She had gone on a beheading spree after Methos, believing that that immortal had been his vanquisher. Upon learning that Victor still lived, she had retreated in the monastery, hoping holy ground would help her decide her next course of action. In all that time, she had not encountered an immortal that was not Jin.

She walked into the open. Snow fell lightly over her, and she felt her hands freezing. It startled her but she moved on, intent on everything but at the same time thinking. Jin Ke had arrived ten months after her. He was an ancient immortal, hoping to regain his honour lost two millennia ago. At first, they had only sensed each other. In time they had begun to talk. The sex fanfare was eight months old now.

The monastery had iron gates that extended ten metres around its main building. By the entrance there was a shape. It was not Jin Ke. This man was large and stout, unlike Jin's slim figure. She already knew it was not her lover. She was able to recognise Jin's buzz. This man's... he could feel the evil... an evil that was familiar to her.

"One can find sluts everywhere, even here." The man blurted out viciously.

She smirked and wielded her sword. Now his face was clear. There was no mistake as to who the man was. His mouth stretched into a grin. Darla gritted her teeth when noticing the large scar on his face.

"Tempus..." she muttered.

"I am surprised to see you here, Hails." He grunted as he entered holy ground. "I never thought you were fond of the monk type." He winked an eye. "Though I heard they never get tired."

She felt like slamming her sword against his throat. But she couldn't. Holy ground. We don't kill in holy ground. Victor had said it... why was she thinking of him? He had faked his death to get rid of her. She bore him some grudge for that. She knew she would find him eventually, but she had decided not to look for him, not if she could avoid it.

Another immortal was felt around. Darla recognised Jin Ke's buzz and turned. Her lover was walking towards them. In his hand was a spear, one he had been teaching Darla how to use. He looked angry.

"Kronos!" he growled.

"Hello, Jin Ke." He began to fidget around. "The dame and I were chatting... waiting for you."

Jin Ke made the spear swirl before standing in a fighting stance, legs opened and knees slightly bent, the right arm extended forward holding the top of the pike, the wooden part of which was folded under his left arm. "Whenever you want."

"Don't bother. He is mine." Darla grunted as she walked out of holy ground. Kronos followed her with the eyes, gave a quick glance to the Asian, who looked frustrated, and then moved himself out.

"I will not allow this!" Jin Ke said as he stepped out too.

"A challenge has been made. You shall not interfere." Kronos said, mocking a regretful face. "Don't worry, my friend. I will be gentle."

Darla was waiting. Kronos moved towards her. He thrust left of her, aiming at her shoulder. She parried the blow. He retreated before attacking again. This time his blade connected with her unarmed arm, just as Darla's sword countered at his neck. He tried to duck. A squawk was heard.

She retreated to let her wound heal. Kronos was squatting on the floor, holding the left part of his face. Blood tripped from where his hand was. He slowly stood up and removed the hand. Right then she noticed something pulpy and red on the tip of her sword. Darla eyed at the thing, her face ashen. She looked at Kronos. There was a red hole in the left socket of his face. The left side of his face was stained in blood. The thing was the eye missing. He glared with his single eye. He was angry.

Kronos stormed forward. He deflected her rightward blow but could do nothing when his left foot connected her stomach. She staggered back, unbalanced. He thrust her chest, which she could not defend. His blade entered next to her heart. She gasped and spat blood as she fell on her knees.

"Kronos!" Jin Ke called, spear ready.

"You won't interfere, Jin Ke. Your honour of sorts won't let you."

"Let her live." Jin threw the spear away. "And you will have my head."

Kronos looked at Darla. Her fleshy mouth was tarnished with blood. She shook her head, her eyes moist. Words did not come out, though her mouth had moved. He retired the sword from her body and everything went black for her...

-----

Darla's whole body shivered as she returned to reality. She had only blinked and the images of Jin Ke's last moments had crammed in her head, flashing before her vividly. Those images had been haunting her since Jin's death. She had taken his body back to China to be buried, and was now standing before his grave.

His death had been hard for her. Jin Ke had been the only man she had had true intimacy with. Her defilement had been brutal at the mercy of three rapists, in the last moments of her mortal life. After that, the only person that had touched her intimately before Jin Ke was Gabriela Maria Cuadra Saavedra. The Argentine immortal and her shared six crazy months in the late eighties, but Darla had had to kill her after Gabriela lost her mind. Now Jin Ke was dead too, but he would be avenged.

She was cognisant of her want of possibilities against Tempus, Kronos, Alarm Clock, or whatever the now one-eyed immortal felt like calling himself. She also knew she needed further training. She had already met the best mortal teachers in Asia. But now an immortal had to finish her training. And only one name sprang to her mind.

She began to walk away, and the visions of the Alps visited her again. Only this time, before dying, there was something else in the background. Under the pale full moon, beholding the fight from the distance, three shadows stood. She could only sense evil in the daunting images of those three men. Three horsemen.


	2. Chapter 2

**II - The writer**

"Any other question?"

The man sitting before the crowd asked the question with a harsh voice. His first book had been a success, and he had been paid a lot of cash to sit down and answer his fans' questions. Not that he needed it but he had to keep the facade of the up-and-coming writer with not enough money to reject the offer. But after an hour of discussing his method of writing, without metaphors or figures of speech, his bluntness when describing delicate situations such as rape or parricide, and the excessive violence contained in the book, he was losing his temper. Even more when the blond nerd with the thick glasses raised his hand again. Having been motioned at, the nerd squirmed in his chair before beginning to speak.

"Yes, Mr. Simpson. You wrote all the stories in your book in the third person, except for _Kurgan of the Kurgans_. The character is so violent it makes Conan looks like a housemaid... the story is good, but the ending..." the nerd halted to read the book... "_and I left my birthplace, to wander the world till the end of times, meeting love only to watch it burn. And I still do_..." the nerd went emphatic as he fixed his glasses better. "It's rather supernatural, unlike the rest of the book... Where would this character be now?" he grinned with an air of superiority, expecting the crowd to chant his attempt at mocking the author of the book.

Simpson felt like jumping over the nerd, and punching the hell out of him. When the idiot was close to faintness, his teeth falling in spits of blood, his greased hair completely a mess, he would yank him, lean in and yell in his ear. HERE, YOU MORON! He wished he had had his trusty broadsword to impale the jerk. Bah, the mere sight of it would have made the imbecile wet his pants. But his sword had not been with him for a while now.

But he could not do that without telling that the stories of the book were his early memories. Events he had witnessed as the minor of five brothers. The mentioned story, _Kurgan of the Kurgans_, was also an autobiography. It told his life. He grinned. All the immortals in the world would come after him for revealing their existence. He didn't care. They would lose and their heads would fall in line. But the Rules had to be respected. Pity.

"At home, making dinner..." He uttered. The crowd giggled lightly. The nerd dared not speak anymore. "Anything else?"

"Yes." Someone yelled. "Say hi to Marge for me."

Silence followed. The joke was not well welcomed by anyone. A man in his early seventies appeared and grabbed the mike, as Simpson tried to guess who had been the joker.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this was Mr. Homer K. Simpson, in another of Bane Bookstores' Special Events. Thanks for coming."

The crowd cheered. The author flashed up a hand and waved, more out of tiredness than of feeling gratefulness to his readers. The exhilaration in the crowd exploded.

-----

Ten minutes later, Homer was in the back of a revamped Jaguar XK 150 S. The car was almost fifty years old, but he found it better than most of the small-sized new cars. A copy of his book "_Stories of the Kurgans"_ was beside him. He leant thoughtfully against the window.

He was the Kurgan. His true name, Victor, had been lost to history, and few in his three thousand years of lifetime had known it. He was known among his kind as the darkest pinhole in the curtain of the night. A reputation gained by being ruthless in the battlefield, by fighting without restrains, by having no considerations concerning who his opponent was. In short, by playing the Game all immortals play.

However, his reputation did not match his behaviour over the last fifty years. Though he had not spared the life of those pitiful immortals stupid enough to oppose him, and that had begged for their heads fruitlessly, he had also grown tired of the Game. Centuries ago, he had hunted the immortals who might pose a threat in the Gathering. But he was tired of engaging in battle with inferior opponents. With this tiredness, the darkness that had possessed him seemed at bay. He had tried retaking the old habits from time to time, hoping to feel an injection of life, but they no longer amused him.

He had realised darkness stemmed from his early days amongst the Kurgans. His father had crushed his head against a rock when he was five. His mother had saved his life. Years later, the man would kill her, for which the son would get even, crushing a hot stone down the old man's throat...

"Mr. Simpson?" the chauffeur interrupted his chain of thought.

"Yes, Robert?" he spoke softly as he regarded the image of his driver through the mirror. Early seventies, a hard face which concealed a kind-hearted man, and a square of white hair on the top of the head that gave away his Army background.

"Tomorrow is the... birthday of... my daughter... and I was wondering..."

"Take the day." He said, trying hard to sound kind. Two days a year he would ask that: the birthdays of his daughter and his wife. Robert paid them a half-an-hour visit at Boston cemetery.

"Thank you, sir."

Victor returned to himself. Writing the book had been the vehicle to realisation. To his surprise, an editor had liked the style of the book and the work made it to the stores without many corrections. Months later, it was a best seller. Only days before the publication he had had to change his name. Victor Kruger could not be the author. He had explored different possibilities. Kurt Gens, Adrian Lambert, Piotr Rodoshkov, Brad Jones, options he had jettisoned for different reasons. In the end, he had chosen Homer Simpson, feeling it was a name that would not strike as catching. He now regretted not having watched more television. But no immortal in his or her right mind would associate the name of a cartoon with the strongest immortal.

The darkness was still there. Over the years, when it had been strong inside him, it had blinded him and kept him in the cold. But there had been shafts of light that had subdued his appetite for chaos. Like his mother, who had talked him out of the obscure desire to kill his father in the aftermath of his near death. It had meant her murder years later at the hands of her bride, but she had been avenged. Apollonia, murdered during an attack to the village they lived in by a group led by another immortal. He had hunted them all, and found all but the leader. Irina, his only wife, widow of Ivan Trotski, an immortal who lost his head to her new husband. She committed suicide upon learning the truth years later. Helena MacDonald... a blonde beauty whose life had been taken away by a coward immortal. She had been vanquished. The four of them he had buried. The four of them he had mourned. In between there had been many others not nearly as important. Some had been one-night lovers, but others had been victims of his dark appetites. He remembered one particular immortal girl, in the dawn of the twentieth century, whom he had kept in a beating-rape diet for a month. He would not be entertained anymore by then so he took her head.

The car arrived at the luxurious hotel where he was staying and he promptly got to his room. He opened the built-in wardrobe and took out a sword. A Japanese katana, with a tiger sculpted in its hilt. Former belonging of the effete snob Juan Ramirez. His mind glided back to his broadsword, the one he used to carry in a suitcase, split in three pieces that could be easily assembled when needed, and focused on who had it now.

Darla Hails, his younger apprentice. He had made her believe he was dead, helped by the half-trusty Methos. He hoped she would simply assume it, but he remembered the chill he had felt when he had received the fax. _She knows_, it read. Then he had orchestrated the name change. Somehow a picture of him had made it to the back of the book. Darla could track him with it. So he would have to change his name again and say farewell to his fifteen minutes of fame. He would use a name that sounded well, something like Clancy Brown, or Russell Nash. They were better choices than Homer Simpson, but not as good as Victor Kruger.

He had spared her head. Methos was around by the time he found her, so he simply trained her. By the time he would be gone, Darla was likely to become a pet. But she had learnt well and endured his hard lessons. By the time Methos went away, he had got used to her company. He noticed darkness was a part of her too. He could feel it seeded deeply within the young woman, latent, waiting for the right moment to burst out. She was sweet and kind. Only once he had seen anger and bitterness in her, darkness arising, her inherent skill unleashed. Then he had felt something he had not felt in all his lifetime. The feeling he had produced in all his opponents. Fear.

He wondered where she would be now...


	3. Chapter 3

**III - Come the Horsemen**

New York City. Darla Hails was in the subway, her mind blank, and her eyes staring at the ceiling of the wagon. Oblivious to her, an old woman was knitting. Darla only paid heed to her when a gang of punks entered the wagon and began teasing the lady, and struggling with her for her purse. Still, Darla remained aloof until one of the punks gazed at her and called her something.

"You're talking to me, punk?" she muttered standing up.

The punk swaggered towards her. At one point he scratched his crotch. Darla eyed him with disgust.

"Havva problem, b---h?" he grunted.

"Yes, you."

He laughed and glimpsed at his lads, who joined his laughter. In the meantime, she sensed one of her kind around.

"Perhaps you're a bit... tense. Would you like me to..." He grabbed his crotch. " impale you with my sword?"

"You're referring to that toothpick?" She guffawed raucously. "Absolutely pathetic! Don't make me laugh!"

She turned away but the punk grabbed her firmly by the left arm. She tried to release her arm but upon his insistence, she clenched her right fist and punched his nose. He fell holding his bloody nose as his gang came after Darla.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

The voice called from behind the punks. Darla grinned. They turned. A man was before them. He was shorthaired, dressed in jeans, red shirt and a long black coat, and looked calm and mellow, despite the early thirties he appeared to have. A tiny scar was below his eye.

"Whatcha problem, sonovab---h!" one of them drew out a knife and approached the other threateningly as the others chanted for him. He lunged at the man, who avoided the blow, and gripped the punk's wrist twisting beyond the resistance of the joint. A crack and a cry were heard. The train was arriving at the station. The doors opened and the punks dragged his friend out and disappeared, too panicked to do anything.

Darla stood where she was. The old lady was smiling at her and at the man that had saved her from the punks. Noticing some sort of relationship between them, she returned to her needles. The man approached, a small smile posed on his lips. She sat down again, and he joined her.

"Well managed old man." She whispered. "You're stalking me again, Methos?"

"I admit I was looking for you. But stalk you? I am too old to do that." His face feigned seriousness.

"And why... you were looking for me?" she queried, a broad smile on her face.

"Kronos." Darla's face darkened. The good mood inside her disappeared. Her smile faded and she bit her lower lip, so hardly it bled. Her fingers began to tick against her thighs. "I'm sorry about Jin Ke, but you cannot go after him. He is too powerful for you."

"I intend to revert that." She was next to him, yet sounded distant to her.

The train reached the following station. Darla stood up and got off the train. Methos followed her. She walked fast, and he followed in like.

"Darla... I'm serious. He is too seasoned an immortal."

They walked up the stairs and jumped into the night of New York. She moved even faster, hoping to lose him. He tried to keep up with her but she was slipping away. The traffic lights saved him, since Darla had to stop. He continued his dissuasive attempts until she snapped.

"I will go for Victor. He will train me again."

"If he doesn't find Kronos and loses."

"Kronos and Victor?" Lights went green but they remained in the spot. To their sides, pedestrians flocked to work, party, dancing, or whatever. "Come to my apartment, Methos. Discussing _our_ affairs in public is not wise." She motioned left. He hesitated. She looked insistently. "Come, I won't rape you."

-----

Five blocks later, Darla and Methos were half a street away from her building. The street was empty. The night was cold but neither the wind blew nor rain poured down. They had changed the topic to trifles. Where she had been, as if Methos did not know, and where he had been, something that always was a surprise. They halted upon sensing an immortal. More than one. Darla shuddered upon sensing the evil nearby.

From the door of her building, four shadows stepped out and began to walk. They formed a horizontal line that stepped evenly, almost choreographically, towards them. Darla recognised Kronos, completely bald and with a black patch over his socket, and clenched her fists. She glimpsed at Methos, who was gulping. She flashed back at Kronos, who was staring at Methos with a wicked smile. They knew each other and Methos had said nothing. Why was not she surprised? As to who the other three were, no clue.

Kronos stopped and the other three spread across the street. Two to his sides, the third one behind him.

"Brother!" he bellowed. Darla glared at Methos, who composed himself before stepping forward.

"Kronos..."

"I'd given up my quest on you and now I find you... with that whore!"

Darla produced her broadsword.

"Want the other eye out?" she grunted.

Kronos grinned and drew out his blade. But he held it by the hilt, as if it were a microphone.

"Allow me to introduce you my new Horsemen." His arm motioned left, where a hunched figure that resembled the one of Notre Dame glared at Darla and Methos. "Only a beast could replace our dead brother Caspian. Meet Ursa." Kronos waved at his right. "In the place and stead of our lost Silas, Morgan Walker." A man with scarce traces of grey among his blond hair eyed Darla curtly, but focused on Methos. "And replacing the treacherous Methos, a deadly lady. Catherine." A brown-haired woman with big fleshy lips regarded them uninterestedly.

All of them felt a new immortal. Oh, one more to ImmortalMania. Stay tuned, folks, Darla thought. Appearing from behind her and Methos, a hulkish man moved past them. She recognised the shape and was taken aback. Methos sighed in relief. Kronos burst into laughter.

"Look who's joining the party." He sobered. "Hello, Kurgan... "

"Nice patch... bad eye surgery?" The voice came out with a lash of irony.

An alarm was heard, coming from nearby. Darla, till then hypnotised by her mentor's appearance, turned left. Someone had broken a shop window. Methos was with his sword in hand, removing some glass bristles from his bleeding hand, next to the mentioned window. Kronos put up his hand and his horsemen retreated into the darkness.

"Three crows with one stone. My new brothers and I will relish this." The leader blurted out before disappearing.

"Victor..." Darla whispered.

"Let's get the hell out of here!" He bellowed, motioning towards his Jaguar.


	4. Chapter 4

**IV - Untitled**

The drive towards Victor's home was silent. He was behind the wheel, while Methos and Darla were in the backseat, the former on the left, the latter on the right, both staring through the window. The driver pulled over at the gates of an enormous mansion, then pushed a button and the gate opened. He drove through a path formed by grown trees and pulled up at the door. Silently, the three of them walked in.

Victor showed them into the living room, where two large sofas were in front of a television. She noticed a pile of DVD's (The Simpsons?) on each side of the TV. Behind the TV, there was a set of warring spears of different kinds. Methos sat on one sofa, Victor sat on the other. Darla decided to stay up.

"Nice place." Methos commented, trying to break the cold ice between them.

"The royalties for the book and the interests of the bank made it. My butler keeps it well." Victor pointed below his own eye with a harsh grin. "Nice scar."

"A reminder. Does your butler know?"

"Of course." He looked away. "And how are you?" Victor asked Darla, who remained away from them. She did not reply. "And how are you?" he repeated. She shook her head and headed to a large window to stare outside. He stood up and spoke again, this time angrily. "I'm talking to you, Darla!"

She turned. The trace of tears on each of the sides of her face could be seen, and more tears ran through it. She opened her coat and produced the broadsword she had been bequeathed from him. She pushed a button and the weapon unassembled, the two upper pieces that formed the bulk of the blade clattered against the floor. She tossed the remaining part, the one with the grip.

"I had my reasons to do it." He said coldly, but she was not looking at him.

"And which were those?" She growled, now staring straight into his eyes, darting bitterness at him. Victor maintained his look on her. "And you, Methos. How come Kronos is your... brother? And what is that horsemen charade?"

Methos stood up. He breathed out and spoke.

"Millennia ago, I rode across the world with other three immortals. We killed, we looted, we raped. Four marauders on a horse, bringing chaos to your very doorstep."

"The Horsemen of Apocalypse." Victor grunted, his face revealing he was suddenly startled by something.

"But the Horsemen are a myth! " Darla cried.

"We were not. Kronos was Pestilence. He was our leader. Caspian was the Beasts, and it really suited him. He was a vicious savage. Silas was War. He was not truly evil, merely misled. And I was the mastermind, I was..."

"Death." Darla whispered.

"In time, we parted. We came across each other throughout the centuries. But we never rode again. Kronos gathered new formations but none of them was as us."

"What happened to the other two?"

"Silas is still out there. I reckon he's in Ukraine, or Latvia."

"And... Caspian?" she asked.

"Caspian came across me in France. He had been bothering Darius for a while, so I did our friend a favour." Victor broke in, speaking as if he were proud of having killed someone. Perhaps he was, she thought.

Darla sat down on the sofa where Methos was, her face hidden in her hands. "How did you find us?" She glared at Victor, who did not react, but replied softly.

"I got a phone call. A man, coarse voice, the kind you would hear singing blues or jazz. He said Kronos was around, and I would have the chance to get even with him, and save your pretty little ass as well."

"And how are we going to... what are you doing?"

Methos was speaking when he realised Darla had gone to the window and was looking for something outside. Having found it, she stormed out of the room. Minutes later, she returned dragging an unconscious peroxided blonde with her. The woman was young and slender, and wore a tight navy blue skirt and a black shirt, sensually tight all over her figure. She had quite the image for a short-lasting career as a pop singer. Victor looked at the scene confused, then glanced at Methos, who was holding his head worriedly, an image they did not usually were able to see.

"Who is this?" he demanded.

"This is my Watcher." Darla replied simply.

-----

An hour later, the woman regained consciousness. She noticed Darla and Victor.

"Hello Jimena." Darla said nicely.

The watcher sat up and shook her head.

"What... am I... this is kidnapping!" she moaned.

"Cut the show, Britney." Victor faced her, his face a mask of viciousness. "We know you're a watcher, and we want answers." He eyed her up and down and his tongue slid out over his lips and licked them. "Otherwise, I may have fun with you." She stammered and began to weep. Meanwhile, Darla took the palmtop of her Watcher and began to read the notes that were there.

-----

Darla Hails is the only known apprentice of the Kurgan. I guess she was born around 1960, and her first death occurred near 1980. She was mentioned on a report concerning the death of the immortal Alexander Smith in 1983, a report that was never taken seriously. She is probably the immortal with whom Gabriela Maria Cuadra Saavedra had an affair in 1989, as per Saavedra's watcher, and my own witnessing of their brief meeting in Paris. She appears to be overconfident, but at the same time she strikes as being extremely sensitive. In the few years I have watched her, she's seemed to have a strong attachment with her mentor, though she believed him to be dead. The reasons are a mystery, but probably she is infatuated with him. A crush, a rather foolish feeling for someone her age. I don't know what will come out of this affair with Koren and his men, but I find Hails rather unstable. Too much for my comfort...

----

"You think I'm unstable, Jimena?"

The watcher gazed at her. She saw Darla approach her and fondle her face, staring at her with a sultry face. "Ever took part in a party of four?" Jimena shivered and stared away. Then she noticed Methos and called for him.

"Adam, what are you doing here? Help me!"

Methos approached. He hesitated for a second as to what to say, then finally spoke.

"I am one of them... Pierson is a cover."

Jimena's face darkened again, after having brightened up a bit upon seeing Methos. Despair could see in her face. Being surrounded by who was considered the strongest and evillest immortal ever, his unstable apprentice, and Adam Pierson, who turned out to be an immortal, one that could not be better than the others (otherwise he would not be there in such company), her hopes were none.

"Now we need your help." Darla said, still caressing her, but feigning kindness.

"In what...?"

-----

"Yeah?"

Joe Dawson had checked the number on the cellphone screen and received the call. He hoped it would be the report of Jimena Varela on the affair between Darla Hails and Melvin Koren and his posse. He did not like Hails much. Never had. But he knew Adam Pierson, Methos, was with her, and he did like the man. Even if he had tricked the entire organisation into believing he was a student with a good skill for odd languages, researching about the oldest immortal thought to be living. Himself. That's why Joe had phoned the Kurgan and tipped him on Koren's location. Even if that meant the girl would meet her mentor again. Odd couple. He thought.

"Hello, Dawson." The voice was loud and clear.

"What is it, Darla?" he grunted.

"I have a friend of you here. My watcher. I will return her in exchange of information. And you will bring it to me personally."

He hesitated for a second, knowing the oath he had made to never interfere in immortal affairs would have to be broken once again.

"What is it?"


	5. Chapter 5

**V - Ladybird**

Dressed in a neat black suit over a white shirt, with the black bow tie around his neck, Robert was sitting in the kitchen, sipping a cup of coffee to finish his waking up. He could hear gibberish on the living room. Mr. Kruger was surely with some guests. Immortals like him. He had not had a hard time believing in immortals. He was methodical. See to believe. So when Mr. Kruger had slashed his own wrist and Robert had watched it heal, he simply vowed to keep the secrecy.

His boss was a queer fellow. But Robert owed him a lot. He had appeared out of the blue, got him out of jail and hired him as his butler. Robert had learned in the Army to obey his superior. Mr. Kruger was his superior now, so he would obey him. Being in prison for more than twenty years had not softened him. Of course he had deserved the sentence, but it had been moral justice he had applied.

He heard the intercom on the wall being turned on.

"Yes sir?"

"Robert, there will be a Mr. Dawson coming. Show him to the living room."

"Yes sir."

He left the intercom. Robert had been in jail for hunting and torturing like the Army had taught him. Only that time it had been something of a personal nature. The punk had lost his ten toes, three fingers of the left hand, and two of the right. To that, it could be added the maiming of the reproductive little fellow with with he had raped Robert's only daughter. He had relished every second of it, and even more when he plunged his knife deep in the punk's side. A death sentence spared by his years in the Army.

The bell rang. "On to service," he thought as he moved and opened the door. A bearded man with a cane appeared before him. He found him familiar. Perhaps he had been with him in Vietnam. Unlikely, he thought, but possible.

"Er, hi... I am Joe Dawson... I am looking for the Kur... Mr. Victor Kruger."

The man stammered too much. Robert feigned a smile and fully opened the door. Dawson limped in and the butler closed the door.

"This way please."

He went slowly, keeping up his pace with the visitor.

"It's a nice place here." Joe commented, trying to chat.

"Indeed."

"You know, you look familiar. Haven't I met you before or some relative of yours?"

"Perhaps." Robert had no reason to think the man was asking that on purpose. He could not know his daughter and wife were dead, but a funny feeling inside made him feel his question had some subtle meaning.

He opened the door and Dawson walked in. Robert followed, and took a glance at the people there. There was his boss, of course, there was Dawson, there was this young man he knew only as Pierson, and this woman... his breathing increased, his heartbeat quickened. He grasped the wall not to fall, feeling as if someone had thrown a planet against his head. His eyes failed, as well as his senses. He fell, as she said the one word he would have killed to hear every day since 1981.

"Dad?"

-----

Darla glowered at Victor, who had rushed to help his butler and drag him over the sofa. Somehow he had got his father out of jail. That did not bother her. But he had put him under his service, exposing him to the horrid truth of finding out he had spent more than twenty five years jailed for avenging a daughter who was still alive.

"You are a vicious son of a b---h!" she muttered.

"Hey!" Victor yelled. "Don't you ever talk like that to me again!"

"Guys." Methos broke in, as he fixed some brandy to wake Robert up. "Easy. We have matters to discuss."

In the meantime, Dawson had joined Jimena and was comforting the scared woman.

"Where are the files?" Victor asked curtly.

Joe put his hand inside his coat. Victor glared for a second, ready to jump at the man should Joe produce a gun. But only an envelope came out. He handed it to Methos. The oldest of all the people there opened a laptop and took out a CD. He put it in the computer and waited.

"OK. It's all here."

"Shall we leave now?" Jimena asked, her first word since she had given them Joe's phone number.

"No!"

The word came out simultaneously from the three immortals there. Methos left the brandy. Victor was assembling his broadsword with a certain pleasure in doing that after a long time. Darla went to the spears, and picked a long one which had a sharp blade in the tip, a blade long enough to strike off a head with a single blow.

They heard the door being kicked down. One immortal only. Victor wondered who in hell it might be, with enough guts to break into his place like that. The deformed man known as Ursa appeared before them, grunting and yelling. In his hand, a massive axe glinted.

"Careful, guys. He is not in his right mind." Methos spoke. He had heard of Ursa over the centuries. A man who had never adapted to the world and lived in holy ground. He wondered how Kronos had got him to the Horsemen. Caspian was mad, but he could behave. Methos doubted that this man would be able to even follow the Rules.

Ursa attacked Victor. The owner of the house moved swiftly aside, and the savage went past him. He growled. He was surrounded. Darla and Victor on one side, Methos on the other. Next to him was the sofa where Robert lay. He laughed silently before grasping the fainted man and slashing Darla's father's throat as he guffawed.

She yelled, as tears began to slide down. The sight of his dead father made a scar all inside her. She squeezed her fist over the spear. Victor's massive body stood between her and Ursa before she could move. She looked up and found her mentor staring bitterly at her.

"Outside... and be sure he bites the dust."

She heard his words and retreated. Victor moved aside. Ursa had thrown the body back to the sofa, and was wielding his axe. Darla waved.

"Hey, you freak, you hideous hunchback. Want my head? Come for it!"

With those words she stormed out into the open. Ursa followed her grunting.

-----

Darla manoeuvred the spear with skill. She found it similar to the one Jin Ke had thought her to use, a weapon she later mastered during her training in China. Ursa wielded the axe as he let out a savage yell before lunging at her. She jumped to her left, but extended the spear to make the savage trip on it and fall. He scrambled up with another yelp. She knew she had to be careful. He was not smart, but he was evidently strong, and a blow with that axe would be enough to make her see the stars. She began to make the spear twirl. Ursa stared baffled for a second before attempting to land a blow on her. He failed and the axe buried itself on the ground. Darla hit him on the side, and he cried in pain. Immediately, her second attack resulted in a deep gash in his right arm. She attempted a third and definite blow, but he intercepted the spear with his bare hands, and lifted her in the air using it. He moved the spear in the air, shoving her as if she were a kite, until Darla had no choice but to let it go. She flew away and landed harshly on the floor.

"That hurt," she moaned. Now she was disarmed. Ursa held the spear with his hands and used his knee to crack it in two. Then he picked his axe. She would need to get a weapon, and get it quickly. He struck in her shoulder before she could react. She screamed in pain as she retreated. It would heal, but in the meantime, she was handicapped. She had to think. How do you beat a large brainless guy with such a weapon? He attacked before she could decide. She avoided him but he kicked her down. She fell defencelessly at his mercy. Ursa raised his axe. She regretted not having had the chance to avenge his father. All of her felt sorry for that. She closed her eyes, expecting not to open them again. But she did. Ursa was fascinated with something that surprised Darla as well.

There were small golden glints all over him. She strained and realised the glints were like golden ladybirds. Taking advantage of his distraction, Darla stood up and began to move away. Then the small golden bugs disappeared. The mesmerising over, Ursa went forward and again his axe ended up stuck in the floor. Darla jumped forward and stepped on the massive blade of the axe. Ursa noticed her as he tried to lift it up. She kicked him hard on the face and he staggered back. She returned to the ground, grasped the grip of the axe and lifted the weapon up. It was heavier than the broadsword she used to carry, but it would do. He picked the half of the broken spear that had the blade and lunged, trying to connect a stab in her chest. But he hit the air. She had ducked, and using all her strength she made a vertical cut running from his stomach to his neck as she surged. He fell, as drops of blood stained Darla's face. She went to his neck. The wild beasts had found someone to tame them. He was indeed yelling like an injured beast. She smirked as she made the axe give a rough kiss to its former owner's neck. Ursa's severed head turned to its right and there it remained.

She saw the body soar covered in a strange white glow. Lightning hit her as she let the axe hit the ground. She could see Ursa's past. He had been mocked, rejected. He was not evil. He had joined the Horsemen to belong somewhere. Kronos had bent the truth. How could he be good if he was rejected? Ursa was evil, Kronos had said. By joining him, he would become good, and they would spread goodness around the world, destroying the evil that ruled the world by means of riot and chaos. Despite everything, she pitied him as the quickening went off.

She stood up and staggered forward, as tears rolled down her cheeks. The people in the house had come out to see how the battle developed. Methos looked relieved and the two watchers looked disinterested, yet slightly shocked for the murder occurred before their eyes. Victor was subtly nodding at her. She scowled as she stopped by him.

"This is all your fault. You should have let him there."

She spat at him and carried on her way inside. The watchers followed her on their way out. Only Methos remained with Victor.

"She's right." The Kurgan said bitterly, feeling her saliva trickle down his chest.

Methos wished there had been something he could say. But in his five thousand years of life, he did not think he had learned a word fit for the moment.


	6. Chapter 6

**VI - Run-up **

Once the coroner took the body away, the three immortals were left on their own. Darla found a large empty room, which could have been a dining room. With another spear, she was performing one of the many katas she had been taught in Asia. Her mind was filled with two things: the kata, and the strange golden ladybirds. She had blocked her mind and his father seemed out of it. For the time being, she needed him out.

She did not react when she sensed someone around. She did not check who it was. Neither Victor nor Methos mattered to her. She focused on her movements, only did she stop when she elbowed behind her and hit something hard. She turned and found her mentor looking at her with his usual stiffness. She continued as if he weren't there.

"Can we talk?" He asked with that bellowing voice of his.

She carried on. Right foot kicks upwards, then look left, and hit with spear in right hand as you land on both feet and breathe out. She stood firm with the spear extending up almost attached to her body.

"You will pretend I don't exist?"

She turned suddenly and delivered a blow on his head with the tip of the spear. He stepped back as his brow began to bleed. He smirked and retired, returning a minute later with his massive broadsword.

"I thought that was what you wanted."

Her words let out her bitterness and pain. Victor said nothing, but held his weapon in his right hand, waiting. She made a nod with her head and struck at him. Several blows she delivered at his shoulders and chest, but he parried them all. She retreated to catch her breath. Then he attacked. His broadsword hit the air near the floor after Darla jumped, but he swung it up and hit her on one leg. She fell heavily.

"You're still the dumb apprentice I once met." He said mockingly.

"And you're still the bastard son of a b----h everyone talks about!" she replied angrily as she stood up.

"Hey! Don't you dare talking like that to me!" he spat up.

His next blow landed on the floor and Darla, using her spear as her base, delivered a flying kick on his face. After that, she took her distance.

"You're not my dad. So don't tell me how to speak to you. My dad died because of you. You owe me, Kurgan!"

Darla realised she had called him like everybody did. Not Victor, like she had always done. She wondered if that would hurt him. Victor hurt? No more than she was Joan of Arc. She noticed he had gritted his teeth. Hurt or not, she was sure he had not liked it.

"You want to meet the Kurgan, you pitiful excuse of a woman?" He bellowed. "You pathetic imbecile worm, food of rapists!" Darla was startled by his words. She had the feeling she would meet the Kurgan of legend, rather than the Victor Kruger she had known. He went forward and delivered an astounding blow on her chest. The fierceness of the attack sent her back. "Stupid pet. I should have taken care of you when I had the chance!" He lashed out at her again, this time chopping at her. She opposed her weapon, but he cracked it in three pieces, and split her lips, cut open her shirt and gashed her stomach, all with that single blow. She fell on her back, pain throbbing every fibre of her body. He lowered the sword and knelt beside her. Wounds began to heal and she painstakingly sat down. He put his arm on her shoulders and then embraced her fatherly, something he had never done before. She let the tears flow freely.

"You... you..." she stammered, not sure as to what to tell.

"We will settle this, Darla. I promise." He whispered, in a tone close to kindness. "But Kronos is first..."

-----

"Ever think about the past, ancient one?"

Darla was sleeping in one of the bedrooms. Victor had returned downstairs and found Methos in the living room. At the question, the older immortal left the book he had been reading (obviously, "Stories of the Kurgans") and looked at his company.

"Don't we all?"

"You believe there will be atonement for our actions?"

"We would need at least two thousand years... or letting our heads fall for a good cause." Methos said with a prickle of despondency, and another of realism.

"Like Ke. Is it true he offered his head to Kronos to let her live?"

"Indeed." Methos sighed in distress. "He saved her, and regained his honour in so doing."

Victor looked away. "What do you think would have happened... if I had not taken the Highlander's head?"

Methos smirked. "You would have carried on being the Kurgan of legend. You and him would have met and then it would be a question of luck. If he won, the Game would remain the same as now. If you won..." Methos' face sombered. "The eternity of darkness Ramirez spoke of."

"And her?"

"I... don't know." Methos did not like hypothesising about the past, and possible alternatives to the present reality. The past was past now. All that mattered was the here and now, and getting to tomorrow. "Why? Now you want to go to heaven?"

"Heaven comes to he who waits, Methos. But I know I will be getting nowhere. All the deeds of yesterday..." He stopped, looking for the right words.

"Helped to pave your way?"

"Yes. It's been... a torture lately. A slow, systematic torture by whomever is in charge above or below."

Methos stared blankly, thinking. "Want to check the info?"

"What do you have?" Victor sat beside him in front of the laptop, shaking off the instant of introspection.

"This is Melvin Koren, alias Robert Tempus. There is not much stuff about him. But we know about him." Methos clicked and the image on the screen changed. "Morgan Walker. He recruits top models, and converts them to his prostitution agency. He is a decent swordsman, but is the lesser of our problems." Another click and the image changed again.

"Nice lips. Think what she could do with those." Victor commented jokingly. Methos grinned.

"The lady is Catherine Mary Devaney. Born in Ireland in the dusk of the seventeenth century. This woman had a bad life. She married a butcher. The man was not nice with her, but she killed him before he did. For that the people of her village hanged her. She woke up and came across our old _amigo_ Ramirez, who was already possessed by the dark quickening. He trained her and modelled her to be a perfect assassin... and his personal whore. He nearly killed her before she got away during the French Revolution. She's been getting by as she could ever since."

Victor remained thoughtful for a few seconds. "I can see that Kronos fooled that savage. But I don't understand why the other two are with him."

"Devaney is a survivor. If teaming up with Kronos will ensure she carries on here, she will." Methos spoke with the knowledge of experience. "As for Walker... he wants me."

"Darla's readier than I thought she would ever be."

"I know, but she still needs to work on her concentration, I'm afraid."

"Think she stands a chance against Kronos?"

Methos shook his head. "Age before beauty."

"Where are they?"

"An abandoned factory in Brooklyn."

"Should we visit them?"

Methos yawned. "Tomorrow night. I need to catch some sleep. Here if you don't mind."

"Sure." Victor stood up and headed out, but he heard Methos calling.

"This is not just about Apollonia, right?"

Victor stared back, but did not reply. Methos noticed the sombre look in his face and took the book again. Methos got the feeling things would not end well for them.


	7. Chapter 7

**VII - Triad**

The following night, they gathered at the door and inside Victor's Jaguar, with the owner driving, Darla and Methos in the backseat, and their weapons next to them, they headed towards the factory. Silence dominated the atmosphere. Darla was tapping her legs with her fingers. Methos and Victor were still, doing the least possible. The factory was almost next to them by the time one of them spoke.

"We need to set things straight. Kronos is mine."

Victor glanced at Darla through the mirror, expecting opposition. She returned the glance and nodded in silence. He returned his eyes to the front, as he realised his apprentice would not confront him.

"Walker won't fight anybody else but me. Is the lady fine for you, Darla?" Methos spoke softly as the car pulled up.

"As if I had a choice." She opened the door and left the car, holding a wooden spear with a sharpened short blade on the head in her hands. She felt that if Jin Ke were to be avenged, she would have to use what he had taught her, even if in the end, Kronos did not die by her hand.

Victor leaded the way towards the main door. He pushed it and it opened. A large open space was before them, dimly illuminated by malfunctioning tubes. They heard mosquitoes buzzing around them as they felt another kind of buzz. Three immortals. From the farther side, Kronos guffawed viciously as he left the darkness and came into the light. To his left, Morgan Walker was neatly dressed in a suit, his hands in his pockets, calmly waiting. To Kronos' right, Catherine Devaney was cracking the joints of her hands.

Walker moved to the left side of the factory, where Methos followed him, producing his sword. Kronos did likewise but to the right. Darla was covered briefly by the shadow of Victor as he moved. She wanted Kronos, but she knew that she was no match for the Pestilent immortal. So she would have to focus on her opponent: the lady with the fish lips. She grinned as she approached with her spear ready. She would dine fish and chips tonight. She heard noise to her left. The party had started.

-----

Methos dodged Walker's first blow and contained the second with his sword. Walker tried to retreat but Methos hooked his opponent's sword with his. A struggle began. Methos moved his blade towards Walker's face and made a superficial cut, not very painful, but sufficient to distract him enough to release his blade. He stepped back as Walker lunged again. He parried his attack. A series of clashes began, with Walker landing blows on Methos' blade. The older immortal knew that it would take time to tire Walker out. He only hoped Morgan had not improved a lot since their last meeting.

-----

Kronos and Victor studied each other before beginning to battle. Two ancient swordsmen fighting with a barbaric style. Martial arts had nothing to do here. It was a one of a kind method of combat, based on raw force and the want of consideration for the opponent. Kronos lashed out violently at Victor's shoulder, and met his opponent's broadsword. The other replied with a strong blow that hit Kronos' arm. The two retreated to study each other.

-----

"So you'll let him handle the murder of your yellow pig?"

Devaney's words had infuriated Darla so much that she attacked clumsily, hoping to stab her chest. But she overextended her thrust and Catherine slashed her stomach and her back before she could put up any defence. As her wounds healed, she parried Devaney's blows as she could, half-kneeling on the floor. Once fit, she jumped up and struck harshly on the face of the fish, who staggered back. Darla wielded her spear. The fish was good, but she knew she could outwin her even in her worst day. So long as she stayed focused.

-----

Methos retreated again. Walker had managed to cut his chest and make a serious wound in his shoulder, making his weapon hand numb. The pimp had improved since their last meeting indeed. He glanced right, and noticed that they had drawn near Darla and Devaney. His pals were going well thus far. He had to keep up to his team.

Walker went forward again, hoping to thrust at the other shoulder. Methos ducked as Walker went past him with his right arm arching above him. Methos began to rise and punched Walker on the side of the stomach. Walker bent in pain as Methos inflicted him even more by plunging his sword in his back. Walker fell, dead. He retired the sword and swung it up, glancing at the others.

-----

Kronos had the upper hand. Victor had suffered two deep cuts in his arm and one in his stomach. Evidently the Kurgan was extremely rusty and out of shape, he thought. He landed another blow on his blade and swiftly retreated to attack again. But he only began to swing his sword forward when he saw the massive immortal lunge at him with a deafening shriek and impale him against his sword. Kronos gasped.

"I am the end of Time!" he said as blood gushed out of his mouth.

"Really?" Victor mocked.

-----

Darla avoided Devaney's downward blow and saw an opening below her left breast. She thrust there and succeeded in wounding her. Devaney hissed as she attacked again. Darla parried and hit her on the head with the lower part of the spear, a blow strong enough to make her opponent land harshly on the floor. Catherine's sword was somewhere other than in her hands. Darla did not care, she went forward and sliced her head off before the fish could mutter anything. Dinner's ready, she thought bitterly.

She looked at Methos, who was with his sword ready to strike at Walker's corpse. Her eyes met his and she stormed towards him, wielding her blade above her head. She swung forward, taking Walker's head. Methos looked at her appalled but said nothing.

She turned to her right. A white mist was beginning to appear from Devaney's corpse. She looked for Victor, who was mightily stabbing Kronos. She ran towards him, yelling like a wild beast. Her mentor glanced at her and swung his sword up, making Kronos' gasping body dive in the air, going towards her. She froze and stood in profile, her spear on her left hip. When Kronos' flying corpse was at range, Darla extended her weapon forward and upwards, and she struck against the Horseman's neck. The body bent in the air and plummeted against the floor, as the head fell somewhere else. She had screamed out loud as the blood bathed her face as his neck said farewell to the head that had been with it for three millennia.

"Ride in hell, a---hole!"

Devaney's quickening hit her in the shape of lightning. Methos and Victor were moving towards the door. She looked at her sides. Walker's quickening gripped her and penetrated every pore of hers. Both quickenings made her shiver. It was glorious. Twice the pleasure, the twice the pain. She opened her eyes and saw a shape of a glinting black horse galloping towards her, stemming from Kronos' body.

"What the...?" she thought, before being struck by it. God almighty, a triad of quickenings. She yelled as the energy made her skin melt, her blood boil, and her heart pump. It was an orgasm of painful pleasure and pleasant pain. She began to soar as pure energy circled around her in a green whirlwind. The whirlwind began to draw in and when it touched her, it made her shriek again. It was the zenith of all quickenings. Power, power and more power.

It went off all of a sudden. She landed heavily on the floor. She opened her eyes and slowly stood up. She balled her hands, seeing the energy sparkling in them. She looked for her companions. They were nowhere to be found.

-----

"ROBERT HAILS - BELOVED FATHER." Darla read the grave and contained the tears that crammed in her eyes, struggling to break free. She bitterly wished she had had the chance to talk to him. At least a few words between them would have done. When she became immortal, she had assumed she would not see him again. But seeing him there... all those mixed emotions locked away inside her escaped.

"Hi, Darla."

Darla turned startled. Jimena Varela, her watcher, was next to her, holding a bunch of roses, dressed in a black sober dress. She placed the flowers by the grave and silently stood there by the immortal she should always watch and never talk to.

"What are you...?"

"I wanted to say I'm sorry." Jimena grinned with embarrassment. "For his death, and... for writing that... you were..."

"Unstable? Perhaps I am." Darla conceded.

"I had no right to judge you. You... live in a way that I will never live. The head taking is something I'm glad will never happen to me. It would drive me crazy." Her voice broke at a point, but it levelled again.

"It doesn't matter now."

"And I have something for you." Jimena produced an envelope. "Adam... or whatever he is called, asked me to deliver this to you."

Darla took the envelope and moved away. "Watch you."

Jimena called again. "If you... feel like..." Darla turned, noting a particularity in her voice. "... I don't know..." The watcher's face went red as she spoke "... that party of four, of just the two... of us..." Darla's mind started working. My watcher is making a pass at me. It's a very mad world, she thought.

"Some other time perhaps." She said, leaving in a cheered mood.


	8. Chapter 8

**VIII - Bloodletting go**

New York History Museum. Standing idly at the entrance under the heavy hailstorm, Darla read the note again. "New York Museum. Important." The door was open, though it should be closed and locked. She felt it. Someone ancient and powerful was around. But it was a different kind of feeling. It was not like the usual buzz in her head. It felt more like a quickening unleashed. But at the same time, it was something different from that. Whatever it was, she knew who was there. There was a blackout and it was intentional. She followed the feeling, sensing how it grew stronger as she approached. She found something that mesmerised her.

Victor was there. He was sitting on the floor with his legs crossed, and his arms resting over his knees. His eyes were closed. Around and over him, there was a bluish glow. The shape of an incorporeal dragon blistered above him, engulfing him. She approached. His eyes opened and a blue glimmer sparkled in his eyes. The dragon disappeared as he stood up.

"What was that!"

"The manifestation of my quickening. Us immortals can channel our quickening when we learn to give it a purpose."

"The purpose being...?"

"Overwhelm another with your power... distract you... fight another one using the same technique..."

"Kronos knew it, right? And he tried to..."

"Possess you via his quickening. He channelled his power in the last second."

"He succeeded?"

"Do you feel like 'the end of time'?" he asked, growling mockingly at the last words.

"Is it complicated?" she queried, grinning at his previous question.

"You just commit everything inside of you to that, and it will erupt. It takes practice but you did it without it."

Darla halted, suddenly making sense. "The ladybirds."

"Yes. All I still had to teach you when you left me you've learned it by yourself. Now that you've learned to channel, there's nothing more for me to teach you." He paused. "You're no longer my apprentice."

Darla gulped. There was something in his voice that she found disturbing. She felt a strange feeling inside of her, and she clenched her fists.

"Why am I here?" she mumbled.

"It's settling time." He muttered.

"Victor... I... won't fight you."

She turned and began to move away.

"It is not your choice, Darla. It's mine."

"But I won't fight you!" She heard a vicious cacchination behind her. She turned. Victor was wielding his broadsword, glaring unkindly at her. Darla looked around, and hurried to a rapier that was behind a box of glasses. She hit with her elbow and the glass broke. She grabbed the weapon and held it in her hands. She began to move her arm to see how the weapon felt, and how it flew. It was a light weapon, lighter than any sword she had ever wielded. She just hoped it worked. "I said I don't want to fight you, Victor."

"I am the Kurgan, you silly b---h!"

Darla's eyes widened as she saw the massive figure of her mentor lunge at her violently. She avoided her blow and tripped on something. He attacked again, slamming his sword heavily at her side, missing her by less than a centimetre. She scrambled up and took distance. The Kurgan grinned evilly. She grimaced in pain, realising he was serious.

"That's all you've got?" she provoked, hoping to make him angry. Always taunt your enemy, if rage takes him over, he will make a mistake. He had taught her that, but she doubted that would truly work against him.

He lunged at her again. His thrust went against her chest. She gave a step back and inclined her whole body backwards. The sword grazed her tee shirt and made a minimum cut on it. She pointed the spear at him and aimed at his stomach. He put his arm up and blocked the blade, but his arm was gashed. He delivered a blow that missed her by nothing.

"Nicely done, Darla." He said mirthlessly as he extended his arm and squeezed his fist. The wound began to bleed and the blood fell down to the floor. "Watch me bleed, as I've done forever. Now let me go and avenge your father."

"Stop this, Victor. Please!" she cried.

"One of us will leave walking, the other in the coroner van." Kurgan shrieked. "I'd fight me if I were you, pretty."

He lunged yet again. Darla blocked a downward blow and avoided the posterior left thrust aimed at her neck. She kicked him in the chest ineffectually. He punched her hard and that sent her back stammering. He slammed against her. She was out of balance, and exchanging blows with him had tired her out. She put up her spear and parried a first attack, but the second made her spear fly away and the third one impaled her. He pushed forward and stuck her against the wall. She gasped.

"Victor..." she whispered painfully.

His face sobered. She could see reproach in him, but not anger. He had wanted her to fight him and she had not. Whatever. She knew she could not do it. She could not kill him. Not only he was stronger, she also cared too much for him to take his head. He wanted her to kill him, but she was selfish, too selfish to let him go. Even more when there was only one way to do that.

"You're still a silly stupid naive girl." He muttered, stepping away from her. His broadsword held her firmly clung to the wall. He removed it and she fell heavily. She raised her eyes and saw him move towards a wooden structure. She scanned around, looking for a sign that said what it was. She saw a French flag on a small poster nearby and realised what he was up to.

"No... no..." she cried as high as the pain allowed her voice to come out, which was not much.

-----

The Kurgan, Victor Kruger, moved with determination towards the wooden structure. He had contemplated the possibility that Darla would refuse to fight him. The girl had managed well against him. Had she truly wanted, she would have eventually brought him down on his knees. But she had not, so he had to use plan B. Still, she was the best candidate for what he had in mind. She had always been.

The structure had a solid rectangular base large enough for a man to kneel in. On one of the narrower sides, two large and narrow lines extended upwards, and a thin wood between them rose only a few metres up, with a half circle. A man kneeling would find the perfect resting-place for his neck therein. A lever, connected by chains to the upper part to the structure, was next to the one of the large wooden lines, at arm's reach. He removed a human-looking figure without head and threw it away. He knelt, put his head in the circle and stared at the basket before his eyes. Inside, a face made of papier-mâché and straw looked at him panicky. Even that thing devoid of life or feelings feared him. He grinned and gave one last glance to his apprentice. She was calling for him.

He had seen the creator of the machine killed by his own creation. That French guy Guillotin begged for his life till the last second. He chuckled as he thought. Would he reach heaven? Would he wait in the purgatory? Would he be plunged into hell? What it would be like to be inside another immortal? Inside of her? Time to find out. God, Satan, here comes the Kurgan! He pulled the lever and heard the heavy blade above him whistling as it slid down towards his neck.

**END**


End file.
